I Should Very Much Like To Hat You
by FangIsFexcellent
Summary: The Hatter is diligently working on hats for the Red Queen, but that's not who's on his mind...why is it she is always too small or too tall?


**Don't own the characters, blah blah blah, but this is written by me (Fex) and the lovely Bob The Other Zombie, who is fawesome. Read and review her stories or Fex will give you the Menacing Glare Of Death. Capiche?**

**This is our version of the scene in the Red Queen's castle, but from our Hatter's POV :) review? **

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><p>"You must let me try one on," Alice says, sifting through hats, garbed in the colors of the Red Queen. The Hatter knows she has no <em>choice <em>in the matter, but seeing her in the colors of the opposition angers him slightly, though it's not her he's angry with; it's her clothes. He wishes he could make Alice something new, and help her into it.

But he mustn't let his thoughts get carried away. Someday, maybe. Someday.

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

The Hatter steals glances at Alice as she looks through his work. She really does look nice in the dress, though he wishes it was in blue, or white. Those are her best colors, he knows from the first time she was in Underland, and delighted in playing dress-up with things he had made, not knowing who to give them to.

He had been worried, so worried of what fates would befall him until the moment that Alice stepped through the door. Now he simply feels a bit of fear of the moment that she will leave him again. Stayne and the rest of the hateful crew of the Red Queen do not seem like they matter quite so much. Alice's smile and her presence on the Hatter act like gin and tonic to an alcoholic; they soothe him, if only for a moment. He wonders if he'll ever be fully content.

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

The Hatter smiles sadly as he remembers that he's head-over-heels (and not just because of rabbit holes) and stupid in love with the little Alice Kingsley. You'd have to be mad to think that they would ever work, but luckily, the Hatter is indeed quite mad.

But he doesn't want Alice to know any of this, so he replies, "It is good to working at my trade again." There are many other things he'd rather say, none of them appropriate and none of them good for this particular setting.

"It's just a pity you have to make them for her." Alice says, oblivious. The Hatter barely stops himself from saying, _I'd rather make them for you._

He'd sit her down as he measured her head, grateful of the excuse to wonder at the golden luster of her hair while he worked. He'd make the greatest hats, oh yes, all the best hats for his Alice, in blue and white and purple, and place them on her head and marvel at how great they looked on her- when really, he didn't want them to cover up her face and her golden hair. He would place several on her head from the back, and then decide that he wanted to see her face as she wears his hats, so he would walk to the front of her, and place more hats on her head. She would smile up at him, with that adorably awkward smile that he's come to remember more than Chess's. It hasn't changed once, not in the years that she's been gone; the same even teeth, same rosy lips.

And she would take off the hat that she was wearing (a purple and gold one, the Hatter decides). Her hair would be tousled and askew, and he would push it back to where it should be in order to place the next hat on that gentle crown of hair. And their eyes would meet, and she would smile again, a little uncertain now, and he'd lean in, and...

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

"What is the matter with me?" the Hatter whispers. But he knows.

And it's all too much, the mad animal inside him awakening. He can nearly _feel _his eyes turning warmer colors as he slowly gets up from the desk that he has worked on, almost come to believe as hell. He shouldn't be wasting his materials and craft on the bloody big-head. He should be making his hats with _love, _not _manipulation. _

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

Destroy. _Destroy. _That is what he must do now. He must destroy all things to do with him and the Red Queen and not with Alice.

_Destroy! _

He sweeps the fabric off the table and knocks over the mannequins, swinging his twisted, gnarled hands to eliminate all of his work so far, and why didn't he have _fire? _Fire destroys everything in an instant. Especially fabric.

Two things happen in quick succession; first, the manacle around the Hatter's ankle decides it must do its job and stops him from laying waste to the rest of his stores, and second, Alice's voice, saying as if from a distance, _"Hatter!" _

And suddenly she is there, and his face is in her hands.

Their eyes meet. Overcome, still riding the wave of emotion from his outburst, the Hatter says the only thing he can think of:

"Have you any idea why a raven is why a writing desk?"

He curses himself for letting the moment pass. Alice's face remains worried, and the Hatter has desires that he shouldn't have, desires to spill his emotions out to her, to let her know.

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

The good of Underland is more important that his own feelings, and so he shares only a small part of what he'd like to.

"I'm frightened, Alice," he says. _I'm frightened of Underland and the Red Queen and you and I...and I'm frightened of myself, and I want you to help me not be frightened anymore._

"I don't like it in here, it's terribly crowded," he says. _Because there are things in my head and things outside my head and things in my brain and my skin and everywhere else that are crawling and telling me different things, to go in different directions, with different outcomes, where you always seem to end up unhappy. _

"Have I gone mad?" he says. _Would you ever love a man as mad as a hatter? _

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

A tiny half-smile graces Alice's face, and she takes one of her cool hands off his cheek and places it instead on his forehead, as a mother would to her son, and the Hatter doesn't like _this _at all.

"I'm afraid so," she says, in her voice that often sounds like singing. "You're entirely bonkers."

Oh, no.

"But I'll tell you a secret," Alice continues, a lock of her unruly hair falling down the curve of her nose. "All the best people are."

The voices in the Hatter's head stop, the maddening cacophony ceasing. Alice includes him in these "best people." Alice has liked mad men all along.

Alice leans down to fetch something on the floor, and when she resurfaces the Hat is contained in her small hands, the Hat that has led the Hatter through so much, and now must lead him through the greatest challenge of all.

He wonders if he should take the hat from her, but before he can act on this she's placing it gently on his head, and the familiar weight of it soothes him. It's as if he's whole again, and Alice obviously shares this opinion, because she says with a laugh in her voice, "There. That's better. You look yourself again."

For possibly the hundredth time in the past minutes, the Hatter considers kissing Alice. Just leaning forward and taking her lips between his own. Simple as that, right?

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_

But before he can imagine just one more time, the Red Queen calls, and Alice must leave him. The Hatter wants to say something more. He _must _say something more.

"Why is it you are always too small, or too tall?" he asks her. She smiles at him knowingly (though in reality she knows nothing).

For a second, he thinks she understands.

_(maybe not, probably not ever)_


End file.
